Just Her Toy (F/F)
Posted: Fri Oct 10, 2025 12:10 pm
by AlexUSA3
JUST HER TOY
Part 3: Seduction
I wish to warn you before this chapter that my captor used a strap-on to perform nonconsensual anal sex with me. Indeed, she was a wicked woman… distressingly soulless and hedonistic.
Part 3: Seduction
I wish to warn you before this chapter that my captor used a strap-on to perform nonconsensual anal sex with me. Indeed, she was a wicked woman… distressingly soulless and hedonistic.
► Show Spoiler
I blinked my eyes and looked at my captor, who sat with her legs crossed on a wooden chair and occasionally reached under her skirt and scratched her own crotch like the demented woman she was. My options were a bit limited. After all, my bondage was a bit overkill, wouldn't you say? My wrists were still behind me in the Irish-8 handcuffs, and the speaker wire still tied my elbows together. My nudity isn't exactly news to you, either.
The harness and waist wire were almost painfully tight, and I was not sure if I'd been kidnapped or was starring in a video for a studio like Nabber Cellar, MILF Gigi, or Hunter's Lair. The six wires on my legs made it feel more like Jim Hunter; my own panties, soaked in my own fluids, went more with Gigi; and the Irish-8s were perfect for the Cellar. Sadly, this was my reality, and I was trapped with a perverted blonde. My ankles were chained to 250 kilograms of weights, which seemed a bit excessive if you ask me.
The panties and socks in my mouth tasted terrible, but the blue electrical tape wrapping my head so I could not spit the socks out was beginning to be a bit annoying because of the heat. Why my kidnapper felt it was necessary to put a muzzle on me, I do not know. Despite being trapped in a bare concrete basement and sitting on exercise mats, I was warm from feeling the various points where my blood flow slowed—but didn't pool—thanks to the wire bondage.
I stared at the woman, who kept putting her hand in her skirt and moaning in the occasional loud climax from her disgusting actions. Frankly, her behavior made me uneasy. Attacking me with the strap-on disturbed me less than her personal handjobs. She was masturbating to the sight of me bound and gagged on the floor in front of her like I was a private bondage film. Nothing had to be said. Truth be told, she made more pseudo-erotic sounds than she spoke.
It was like a standoff with me scowling and her shifting on her seat instead of just taking me for another ride. My arms were sore from being so tightly restrained. I wished to sit back, but there was a chain going from the muzzle to the ceiling that prevented me from getting any closer to the ground than I was sitting upright like this, and the pile of weights kept my legs from doing more than squirming a little. After some time, the woman stood up, tossed her dirty blonde wavy hair behind her head, approached me, and undid the chain from my head to the ceiling.
There was no point in resisting her lest I anger her, and I was in no position to fight her. She had full control over me, and she sat on me. That's when she made her choice to disgust me more by grinding her own crotch against my legs near my own crotch while squeezing my titties with her hands. She sometimes kissed my breasts, forehead, and belly, and she rapidly worked herself up to a climax while trying to work me up to my own climax.
As long as these deplorable Irish-8 handcuffs were on my wrists, I had no hope of escaping from this maniac's grasp. My scowling did not seem to be having any effect on her decision, and she'd almost seemed mindless when she was taking my vagina with the strap-on an hour before this. It did not follow any logic, but this was the reality in which she had trapped me. She now fondled my teats and my crotch in an effort to stimulate me, and unfortunately it worked. Thankfully, the only reactions from my body were internal cramps, secretion, and a need to fidget, and my lonely sigh and quiet moan were my only sounds. It was all subtle and suppressed, much like me, but it was not good enough for my kidnapper, who stared at me in seeming disapproval of my reaction.
A jerk on the chains did not do me any good in that situation; the weights did not budge even one millimeter as a result of my efforts. Of all the lesbians to kidnap me, I was kidnapped by the one who liked using fake penises to objectify her captives. In my two distressing hours of captivity, she had jammed a strap-on into my body and given me a penis panel gag as my first gag after my initial kidnapping. Now, she was rolling me onto my stomach and wearing the strap-on again. It did no good to do anything but accept that this was what she wished to do with me.
"GMMMMMM!" I moaned when she pushed the device into my butt.
She had succeeded in making me whimper, and now she had crossed the line from the innocence of Jim Hunter into That Fetish Girl territory. Well, she crossed the line with the first time she'd used this device on me, but at least those were films. This was my disturbing reality and a throwback to some of the worst experiences of my life. Without a name to put with the face, the mindless assault on my body felt even more disturbing. The chain restricted my ability to squirm despite my desire—even need—to squirm as a form of pain relief.
Up and down, in and out, she pushed into my body with mindless passion, the only sounds being those of the device, her laughter, my involuntary groans of pain, and her voice as she climaxed. I may have been trapped, but I was determined to find the position by which fighting was a viable, reasonable option. This battle was not over by any means; it was only the beginning.
The harness and waist wire were almost painfully tight, and I was not sure if I'd been kidnapped or was starring in a video for a studio like Nabber Cellar, MILF Gigi, or Hunter's Lair. The six wires on my legs made it feel more like Jim Hunter; my own panties, soaked in my own fluids, went more with Gigi; and the Irish-8s were perfect for the Cellar. Sadly, this was my reality, and I was trapped with a perverted blonde. My ankles were chained to 250 kilograms of weights, which seemed a bit excessive if you ask me.
The panties and socks in my mouth tasted terrible, but the blue electrical tape wrapping my head so I could not spit the socks out was beginning to be a bit annoying because of the heat. Why my kidnapper felt it was necessary to put a muzzle on me, I do not know. Despite being trapped in a bare concrete basement and sitting on exercise mats, I was warm from feeling the various points where my blood flow slowed—but didn't pool—thanks to the wire bondage.
I stared at the woman, who kept putting her hand in her skirt and moaning in the occasional loud climax from her disgusting actions. Frankly, her behavior made me uneasy. Attacking me with the strap-on disturbed me less than her personal handjobs. She was masturbating to the sight of me bound and gagged on the floor in front of her like I was a private bondage film. Nothing had to be said. Truth be told, she made more pseudo-erotic sounds than she spoke.
It was like a standoff with me scowling and her shifting on her seat instead of just taking me for another ride. My arms were sore from being so tightly restrained. I wished to sit back, but there was a chain going from the muzzle to the ceiling that prevented me from getting any closer to the ground than I was sitting upright like this, and the pile of weights kept my legs from doing more than squirming a little. After some time, the woman stood up, tossed her dirty blonde wavy hair behind her head, approached me, and undid the chain from my head to the ceiling.
There was no point in resisting her lest I anger her, and I was in no position to fight her. She had full control over me, and she sat on me. That's when she made her choice to disgust me more by grinding her own crotch against my legs near my own crotch while squeezing my titties with her hands. She sometimes kissed my breasts, forehead, and belly, and she rapidly worked herself up to a climax while trying to work me up to my own climax.
As long as these deplorable Irish-8 handcuffs were on my wrists, I had no hope of escaping from this maniac's grasp. My scowling did not seem to be having any effect on her decision, and she'd almost seemed mindless when she was taking my vagina with the strap-on an hour before this. It did not follow any logic, but this was the reality in which she had trapped me. She now fondled my teats and my crotch in an effort to stimulate me, and unfortunately it worked. Thankfully, the only reactions from my body were internal cramps, secretion, and a need to fidget, and my lonely sigh and quiet moan were my only sounds. It was all subtle and suppressed, much like me, but it was not good enough for my kidnapper, who stared at me in seeming disapproval of my reaction.
A jerk on the chains did not do me any good in that situation; the weights did not budge even one millimeter as a result of my efforts. Of all the lesbians to kidnap me, I was kidnapped by the one who liked using fake penises to objectify her captives. In my two distressing hours of captivity, she had jammed a strap-on into my body and given me a penis panel gag as my first gag after my initial kidnapping. Now, she was rolling me onto my stomach and wearing the strap-on again. It did no good to do anything but accept that this was what she wished to do with me.
"GMMMMMM!" I moaned when she pushed the device into my butt.
She had succeeded in making me whimper, and now she had crossed the line from the innocence of Jim Hunter into That Fetish Girl territory. Well, she crossed the line with the first time she'd used this device on me, but at least those were films. This was my disturbing reality and a throwback to some of the worst experiences of my life. Without a name to put with the face, the mindless assault on my body felt even more disturbing. The chain restricted my ability to squirm despite my desire—even need—to squirm as a form of pain relief.
Up and down, in and out, she pushed into my body with mindless passion, the only sounds being those of the device, her laughter, my involuntary groans of pain, and her voice as she climaxed. I may have been trapped, but I was determined to find the position by which fighting was a viable, reasonable option. This battle was not over by any means; it was only the beginning.